Wanting His Child

He looked tired, she recognised, deep lines etched either side of his mouth and tension very evident in the way he moved as he followed her into the house. For some inexplicable reason these indications of the fact that he was no longer a carefree young man in his twenties increased rather than detracted from his masculinity, Verity realised, her heartbeat quickening as the adrenalin kicked into her system and sent a surge of dangerous emotion racing through her veins.

‘Was everything all right at the garden centre?’ she asked him shakily as he followed her into the kitchen.

Best not to look at him. Not yet. Not until she had herself fully and properly under control. Not that that shuddery, all-too-familiar sensation within her body meant anything, of course, it was just…just…Well, she certainly didn’t want him looking at her face and recognising anything that might possibly be familiar to him.

‘Well, there were no signs of anyone having broken in,’ Silas told her tiredly. ‘I checked and then double-checked the place and the alarm and everything seemed okay, but the police say that they had a definite tip-off that the place was being broken into and it always leaves you worrying. You know the sort of thing—create a false alarm and then when all the fuss has died down…We’ve got a hell of a lot of valuable young plants there at the moment, plus a delivery of antique garden statues which I’ve acquired for one of my clients. It’s insured but…’ He changed the subject. ‘Thanks for looking after Honor for me.’ He stopped and grimaced as his obviously empty stomach gave a protesting growl.

‘You’re hungry.’ Verity looked at him. ‘Would you like something to eat…?’

He started to shake his head and then stopped as his stomach gave another, louder, protest.

‘It isn’t anything much,’ Verity warned him without waiting for him to make any refusal. ‘Just some pâté and French bread…’

Behind her as she busied herself at the fridge, Verity could hear him groan.

‘That sounds marvellous,’ he told her, admitting, ‘I’m famished and I missed out on lunch altogether today.’

‘But you had dinner,’ Verity began as she removed the pâté and some salad, ‘and you always used to enjoy Italian.’

‘So did you…Remember when I flew out to New York to see you and you took me all around the Italian restaurants you’d discovered…?’

Verity looked at him.

‘Yes,’ she agreed huskily. ‘Yes, I do.’

It had been a brief, a far too brief, visit—a cheap flight he had managed to get, involving only a two-night stay, his visit a surprise to her on her birthday.

She had cried with joy when he’d arrived and she had cried again—wept with misery when he had left, but those tears had been nothing to the ones she had cried the day she had read of his marriage to someone else.

‘Unfortunately Myra isn’t as keen on Italian food as I am and after…Well, we left the restaurant shortly after you—the call came through from the police on my mobile before we could order.’

‘It isn’t much,’ Verity told him again as she put the plate of pâté and salad she had just prepared onto the table in front of him and then went to cut the bread.

‘Not much! It’s wonderful, manna from heaven,’ Silas told her fervently.

‘Cappuccino?’ Verity asked him quizzically as she handed him the bread basket.

It had always been a bit of a joke between them that he had loved the rich chocolate-sprinkled coffee so much. She didn’t need to guess where Honor had got her sweet tooth from.

‘Mmm…this pâté’s good. Did you buy it locally?’ Silas asked her.

Shaking her head, Verity turned away from him. Despite what Honor had assumed, she was, in fact, a very good self-taught cook.

‘Actually, I made it myself,’ she told him truthfully, and she could see what he was thinking from the way he looked from his plate to her expensive and impractical white trousers.

‘Not wearing this,’

she told him slightly tartly.

He had almost finished eating and had started to frown again. ‘I’d better go up and get Honor,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry you got landed with her this evening…It’s one of the trials of being a single parent that…’

‘Yes. It must have been hard for you, losing your wife,’ Verity forced herself to acknowledge.

‘Nowhere near as hard as it was for her to lose her life, nor Honor to lose her mother,’ he countered harshly, before adding equally grimly, as he glanced at her unbanded wedding finger. ‘Obviously, you’ve never married.’

‘No,’ Verity agreed coolly. ‘The business—’ she began, but Silas wouldn’t allow her to finish.

He interrupted her with a harsh, ‘Don’t tell me. I know…remember?’